


living arrows sent forth

by girlmarauders



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Family, M/M, Nathan Mackinnon's Emotions, Wish baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 14:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15842862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlmarauders/pseuds/girlmarauders
Summary: Nate and Tyson accidentally wish for a baby. The universe provides a family.





	living arrows sent forth

**Author's Note:**

> magic baby from the sky don't @ me
> 
> title is from On Children by Kahlil Gibran  
>  _You are the bows from which your children_  
>  _as living arrows are sent forth_  
>   
>  This fic was brought to life by the patience, support and love of [frecklebombfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklebomb/pseuds/frecklebombfic) and [growlery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery). It was beta'd by [misprint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misprint/pseuds/misprint).

The end of season party is at Gabe’s house, with all the team who are still in Denver, and some of the training staff, and a lot of snacks and drinks and a gaggle of children running around in the backyard. Hardly anyone on the team has kids, but some of the training staff are married and it gives the party a lived-in feeling, homey. Nate’s glad he's on a young team, it's fun and usually lecture-free, but it's good to feel settled somewhere, like the team’s a family rather than a collection of kids away from home.

Nate puts the bottle of gin they'd brought on the counter in Gabe’s kitchen. Someone will drink it and maybe Tyson will be tipsy enough to come back and make gin and tonics, giggly and affectionate like he gets after too many drinks.

Matt, who has some title with Strength and Conditioning in the name and mostly makes Nate’s life perpetual torment by forcing him to do extra reps, has a new baby he hasn't introduced to the team, so he and his wife are doing the rounds, everyone making suitable cooing noises. EJ smiles at him, and the baby laughs, making everyone crack up.

Tyson parks himself in an armchair and does grabby hands until Matt hands the baby over. It makes Nate’s stomach flip over uncomfortably a few times, because Tyson loves people and parties and team parties most of all, full of people willing to tolerate his endless capacity for humorous bullshit, and if he's sitting this one out he really is feeling fragile.

It's been a hard season, and even Nate’s feeling bruised and beaten, but it's more than the season pulling Tyson away, he’s sure of it. In all the short time they had been dating, everything has been so easy, right from the start, kissing in Tyson’s car Nate’s rookie year, living in each others pockets every season since then. Nate knows he isn’t always the fastest on the uptake, but he’s always thought of himself as a pretty good boyfriend, and the recent sinking feeling that he might not be as good as he thought is making him a little crazy. Tyson’s a puzzle to other people, moody and effusive by turns, but Nate had never found him difficult. Tyson had shared every part of himself with a generosity and clarity that made it easy for Nate to know him, and left him completely unprepared for the slow withdrawal of the last months. To be completely honest, he can admit to himself that he hasn’t really been paying attention. The team is finally, finally, not actively terrible, and he’s been trying to meet everyone’s heavy hockey-related expectations. Those at least he can do something about. Tyson expects something of him, but Nate has no goddamn clue what it is, and no map to help him get there. Maybe it makes him a coward, but his response to that is to put his head down and try and put more pucks in the net. As a strategy it’s worked for him in the past.

He runs his hand over Tyson’s hair, ruffling it, which makes Tyson pout and run his hand over his head, flattening his hair.

“Go get me a drink, you barbarian,” Tyson says, his other arm still wrapped around Jake.

In the kitchen, EJ is making a drink in a pint glass, G watching him dubiously.

“I can think about the diet plan in a week, it won't kill me,” EJ says.

“It might,” G says, looking at the glass doubtfully.

Nate finds a can of beer, and cracks two of them, watching the joke argument unfold. G’s been fitting in well, and Nate’s not the fastest joker in the league, so he prefers to leave EJ and G to it.

He leaves the beer with Tyson and does a circuit through the house. Gabe guarding the grill on the patio, Mikko bothering him and making sarcastic comments, some of the training staff and what looks like the whole fourth line playing freeze tag with the kids, the little cluster of wives and girlfriends that makes Nate nervous but he says hi anyway, looks at kid pictures, asks polite questions about school and summer plans. He'd had a boyfriend for most of juniors, which was when all his teammates had seemed to really get acquainted with girls, and he felt like he had never really gotten the hang of talking to them. He's smart enough to recognise that they intimidate him, but not really enough to know what to do about it instead of tough it out.

EJ’s girlfriend takes pity on him after 20 minutes of awkward small talk, the newer girlfriends looking at him like an alien that has come to visit, and asks him to go find EJ, giving him an excuse to escape.

In the living room, Tyson’s left his beer on the floor and is playing with the baby, bouncing him on his knee and grinning. Nate stops in the doorway and watches them, Tyson’s big smile and the baby laughing and clapping. Tyson hasn't exactly been quiet the last couple of months, he's still loud and funny, still _him_ , but Nate’s been catching him out of the corner of his eye, chewing on his lip like he does when he's nervous.

“Mac!” Tyson says, when he looks up and realises Nate is there. “Come here, watch this.”

With one hand holding the baby up, Tyson covers his eyes with one hand, and then pulls it back. Jake squeals happily, and waves his pudgy hand, bouncing in place.

“Aw, awesome,” Nate says, crouching down behind the chair, curling his hand around Tyson’s shoulder. “Hey little man, you playing peek-a-boo?”

Jake can’t talk yet, just stare up at Nate with big watery eyes, and he grins at him. He’s a cute baby. Tyson’s shoulder is warm under him, and he leans across to kiss Tyson’s temple, nosing at his ear and the curl of his hair. They try to keep things cool around the team, to save from endless chirping, but Nate’s had a beer, his boyfriend’s holding a baby, it’s a party, he thinks he’s got enough ready made excuses. Tyson squirms away from him.

“Hey cut it out,” he says, and Nate pouts at him a little. They’ve got the whole off season to be apart, if they want. They haven’t made any plans yet, but Nate’s been angling for Tyson to come visit him in Cole Harbour, train a few weeks, maybe go up to the lake house, eat carbs and fuck in the middle of the day. Tyson’s been cagey about it. Usually he goes back to Victoria, and Nate knows he’s got a lot of buddies out there. Maybe he’s selfish, but he wants to hang out with his boyfriend during the summer.

Tyson wiggles his fingers in front of the baby, and Jake tries to grab his fingers, reaching out with an uncoordinated hand, and Tyson laughs when he misses.

“Don’t think you’re ready to be a goalie just yet kiddo,” he says, and moves his hand so Jake can grab it after a few tries.

“With reflexes like that, he could be a d-man, eh?” Nate jokes, and Tyson makes a disgruntled noise.

“Don’t listen to your uncle Nate, he’s a big dumb forward, he’s gonna get his brain scrambled before he’s 25, oh yes he will,” Tyson says, leaning forward to rub noses with the baby, Jake squealing happily. Nate flicks him in the head, big dumb forward his ass.

“You want another drink?” he asks, and Tyson shrugs.

“Sure,” he says, using his free hand to distract the baby. Nate brings him another can of beer, which he’s sure will get left half-drunk next to the chair, and goes to play ping-pong with Gabe on the back patio.

Gabe drafts Mikko and Nail to be their other team, and they beat the crap out of them, because Nail doesn’t care and Mikko is competitive but also not paying attention. They play until it gets kinda dark, and then traipse inside with everyone else from the yard, the parents dragging or carrying kids, some of them falling asleep, some of them complaining. The parents all make their excuses, and the living room empties out, most everyone starting to drop off. Tyson’s looking limp in his chair, handing the baby back to Matt and his wife. Nate watches him, while he does his shoes up at Gabe’s kitchen table, Tyson making faces while he ties his laces. They're both lean after the season, and when Tyson stretches Nate can see the taught line of his hip, and it sends a little frisson of excitement through him. He's got it so good.

Tyson is kind of sleepy in the car, letting his head rest against the shoulder of the seat, and Nate rests his hand at the join between his neck and shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth. Tyson shivers.

“Stop that it tickles,” he says quietly, and Nate stops, leaving his hand there.

“Good party,” he says, just to say something.

“Yeah,” Tyson says on an exhale, his eyes closed.

“You have fun with the baby?” Nate asks. He's just making small talk before they get to the turn off for his house. It's dark, and the car lights cut a small yellow tunnel around the car. It feels like they're all alone, just them in the whole dark world. Tyson nods, eyes still closed.

“Good kid,” he says, and the turn off for Nate’s neighbourhood comes up. He lets Tyson doze the rest of the way there, past houses with kids bikes left in the driveway, plastic playgrounds in the yard.

Tyson stumbles toeing off his shoes in the hall, yawning, and Nate catches him against his chest, warm and inviting, and he leans down to kiss his neck, the soft skin of his shoulder that his t-shirt doesn't cover. Tyson shakes him off, turning in the circle of his arms, looking up at him with the fake grumpy expression he makes sometimes.

“C'mon, what is with you and my neck?” Tyson says, but he tilts his head up for a kiss and bites Nate’s bottom lip.

They're both tired, Tyson showing it a little more, because Nate feels wide awake, warm all over. He thought this would wear off after a while, but he still feels like this everytime they have sex, surprised and hungry for it. They undress in Nate’s bedroom, next to the frankly huge bed he'd bought the summer after his rookie year, Nate watching Tyson pull his shirt over his head, the flow of his biceps, the stretch of his shoulders. Muscle always shows up so well on Tyson. Nate thinks about his body all the time, his life is literally consumed by constant thinking and talking and measuring of his body, but he doesn’t really think about how it looks. He doesn’t care how muscles look, he cares what they do. He thinks about how Tyson looks all the time.

“What?” Tyson says, when he looks up from peeling his socks off and catches Nate looking. He sits down on the bed and reaches out, Tyson unnecessarily far away.

“Nothing, come here,” Nate says. Tyson steps into the space between his legs, just in his boxers, looking down at Nate fondly. He knows he shows everything in his face, how dumb he is with wanting Tyson. He wraps his arms more tightly around Tyson’s waist until he has to step forward until Nate can nose against his stomach, kiss the skin just above his boxers, feeling the faint hair there. Tyson runs a hand through his hair, and then pushes him back so they can kiss, their lips stuttering against each other as they both crawl up the bed, Nate backwards.

Nate loves making out with Tyson. He's loud and responsive, and always makes this breathy sound when Nate pets the inside of his thighs, like he'll somehow have forgotten how Tyson likes it since they last had sex. Eventually, clearly fed up with Nate’s teasing, Tyson rolls off and shimmies off his boxers, making eyebrows at Nate until he digs around in the bedside table for condoms and their half-full tube of lube. Tyson lifts up one of his legs and Nate shoulders under it to run his fingers over Tyson’s asshole, watching for the way Tyson opens his mouth to breathe through the feeling, the same every time. His eyes flutter closed when Nate pushes in with a single finger, and his legs flex as he tries to open his legs wide, the heel of the leg over Nate’s shoulder kicking gently into his back. He rubs a second finger at Tyson’s rim, catching a little, and Tyson squirms a little, trying to encourage him. He's always rushing him.

“C'mon,” Tyson says, raising his head, looking a little peeved. Nate grins and ducks his head. Tyson’s always like this, even sleepy and a couple of beers in, always trying to get Nate in him as fast as possible. He tucks his second finger in and crooks them, rubbing at Tyson’s prostate until he can't complain any more.

“Ah, ah, Nate,” he gasps. He's hard, his dick curved up against his stomach, and he looks so good jerking on Nate’s fingers. He turns and kisses his knee, takes a deep breath. Tyson always gets him going, and he has to think about something else.

“You're so..” he says, scissoring his fingers one last time just to hear the punched out sound Tyson makes, and then sliding them out. Tyson blinks up at him while he slides on the condom one handed, runs lube up and down his dick, hissing through his teeth.

“What?” he says, coming up on his elbows. “I'm so what?”

Nate leans forward, one hand around the base of his dick, and kisses him, a little uncoordinated.

“I dunno,” he says, kissing next to Tysons mouth. “Great, you're so great.”

“Oh thanks,” Tyson says, kind of sarcastically, but Nate sits back on his knees, repositions Tysons leg on his shoulder, and then slowly screws into him, the warm clutch of his ass fluttering around his dick. Tyson grunts, and Nate doesn’t know how his brain got reprogrammed to think Tyson’s grunts are hot but he does and they are, and it makes him want to fuck Tyson into the mattress. He rocks his hips and feels Tyson react under him, and has to bend over more to put his back into it, feeling Tyson tight around him and underneath him.

“Fuck,” he says, trying to keep it together, and then thrusting hard, pushing Tyson’s leg back to fuck him deep and hard, the way they both like.

“Fuck, shit,” Tyson says, scrabbling at Nate’s shoulder. “C’mon, fuck me, yeah.”

Nate shudders all over and keeps fucking him, the slick slide in and out getting him so good. Tyson gets filthy just before he comes, saying things that make Nate red all over. He always thinks about them later and has to go run or skate or do something to burn off the sheer energy of wanting Tyson. He thrusts in once hard and Tyson moans.

“Ah, yeah, c’mon, you gonna come? Come inside me, make a mess, c’mon,” he says, and they always fuck with condoms but it doesn’t matter, Nate’s hot all over with the idea of coming inside Tyson, fuck that’s so hot. He wants to come, he wants to come inside Tyson, and he barely gets a hand on him, wrapped around his dick before Tyson jerks and comes all over his hand.

“Fuck, fuck,” he says. He barely needs to thrust three more times before he comes in one mind-bending rush.

They lie on each other for a little while before Tyson makes a noise and pushes Nate off him.

“You're crushing me,” he says breathlessly, and Nate pulls out slowly so he can roll onto his back.

“Sorry,” he says. Tyson pats his arm.

“That was really good,” he says, which makes Nate feel 10 feet tall. He tries not to puff out his chest. Tyson already teases him enough. He rolls up with a grunt to put the condom in the garbage can in the bathroom and wipe come and lube off him. Tyson’ll shower in the morning, because he's disgusting, and doesn't care about waking up sticky.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Tyson’s already pulled up the duvet around his shoulders and is cuddled up, looking up at him. He looks sleepy, and soft, and Nate smiles at him, already feeling warm and fuzzy with it. Tyson lifts up the side of the duvet to let him in and Nate ignores his huffing while he rearranges them into a cuddle, Tyson’s head tucked under his chin. Tyson always pretends he doesn't like the cuddling until it's happening but he's fallen asleep mid-cuddle a bunch of times. He hums sleepily, and Nate tucks his nose more closely into Tyson’s hair, rumpled and soft.

“I love you man,” he says quietly. He and Tyson say it back and forth all the time, for carpooling and doing the dishes and hello and goodbye and sometimes just to say it, but it gives Nate a little private thrill every time, that he can say ‘I love you,” and know he'll get it back.

“I love you too,” Tyson says quietly, breathing gently in Nate’s arms. Nate squeezes him gently, and closes his eyes. But Tyson’s breaths don't even out. Nate opens his eyes again and waits. Maybe Tyson’ll finally say whatever's been on his mind.

“Nate,” he says quietly, like he's testing if Nate’s awake. Nate rubs his nose through Tyson’s hair.

“Yeah?” he says back.

“Do you think you'll ever had kids?” Tyson asks, and Nate has to take a deep breath so he doesn't lean back. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. He exhales, watching Tyson’s hair move. He hasn’t really thought about it, to be honest. He could think about the plan for a whole day, or a whole season, even the next couple of years, if a couple of trades went their way and some call-ups worked out, when they could maybe cobble together a deep run. But that's hockey, not life, which didn't come with a bunch of memorised stats or any useful game tape. He's only 22, for Christ's sake. But a lot of players his age have kids, it's not that strange or impossible.

Tyson has a habit of asking questions that are about one thing out loud, but another thing in his head. They'd had a couple of fights about it the year after Nate’s rookie year, but Nate’s slowly realising it’s one of those things Tyson can’t help doing and will probably never change, like the way his Mom can't help picking a fight when she's stressed. He takes another deep breath. This isn't the most opaque question he’s ever gotten. Tyson had asked him if he wanted kids, after seeing kids all day and Matt married with a baby. It was about family, maybe a little about the future. Not the future that has goals and play-offs and hopefully some shiny hardware in there somewhere, this is about that more nebulous future that his mom asks about and the player's association tell him to plan for. He rubs his nose through Tyson’s hair again, knowing he’s taking a while to answer the question. He doesn’t think Tyson minds. If Tyson’s going to be inscrutable for the rest of his life, Nate’s never going to be that quick on his feet in conversation. He sits up a bit, rest on his arm so he can see Tyson’s face, and Tyson rolls over onto his back so they can look at each other.

“Yeah, I think so, if you wanted to,” he says, and Tyson’s face crumples up into an expression that Nate can’t read. Now that he thinks about it he can imagine it. Oh, he’d like a cup first, and a lot of games with Tyson at his back before and after that, but he can see Tyson with kids, summers at his parents lake house north of Cole Harbour, vacations in Victoria, Tyson and a kid in swimshorts, maybe the idea a little blurry around the edges for being new but still good. He leans down and Tyson lets him kiss him, until they both roll back onto their sides, cuddled up around each other. Tyson asks a couple questions about their plans for tomorrow, and Nate knows he answers with something, rubbing his fingers down the soft skin on Tyson’s forearms, but he's thinking about that soft-edged future. It wasn't that he had imagined it without Tyson, it was more that he had just never thought of it at all, and now the image of himself and Tyson and a family is all he can imagine that future being.

He falls asleep to the sound of Tyson’s breathing softening out, thinking _I want that_.

&&&  
  
They take the morning pretty easy. It's the sun through the gap in the curtains that wakes Nate up, kind of sticky warm where his shoulder is pressed against Tyson, but otherwise in that rare moment of blissful comfort that comes just after sleep. He yawns, hearing his jaw click, and rolls out of bed to piss.

When he comes back to bed, Tyson’s already shaken himself awake and is sleepily staring at his phone, tapping every couple of seconds as he taps through instastories. Nate bends down to kiss him and ignores the kind of sour taste of morning breath.

Neither of them are big morning people, though they get used to it during the season. It's the summer now and they can stumble around the kitchen blearily if they want. Nate scrambles eggs and eats them with hot sauce while Tyson pushes his around the plate. He doesn't really like eggs, but there's not a lot of decent breakfast food in the off-season plan, and he doesn't like cooking his own breakfast.

“Eat your eggs,” Nate says, when he gets up to shower, and Tyson sticks his tongue out and takes an exaggerated bite.

The kiss before they get out the door gets a little heated and for a minute Nate thinks they're gonna ditch the errands but Tyson pulls away and goes to his own car. Nate sighs. They're getting back together tonight, but the sex last night had been great and he basically wants to be around Tys all the time. It's a little embarrassing but Nate finds a lot of things embarrassing. Worrying about it isn't particularly useful, so he tends to drop it.

Nate has a meeting with his Denver finance guy, which always makes his brain hurt, and then a meeting with Danielle at the rink to talk about off-season media, so he doesn't accidentally say something dumb. Dani’s got a picture of her nephews on her desk, and Nate’s eye keeps getting drawn it, one of the kids in a bright red sweater, waving at the camera. His mom had always made them do Christmas card photoshoots, and the picture reminds him of those. He loses part of Dani’s list of acceptable things to say about new prospects to thinking about Tyson in a stupid sweater, holding a kid that looks a lot like Dani’s nephew. He clenches his jaw and makes his eyes swivel back to Dani. It's a silly daydream right now.

When he finishes with Dani, he goes to poke his head around the trainer rooms. Casey is around here somewhere, and his shoulder’s been hurting him recently, so he wants to talk about what to avoid during the off-season. He’ll talk to Andy in Cole Harbour, and maybe one of physical therapists he sees up home, but Sid’s been lecturing him about talking to the team trainer as well.

Casey’s filling out player files in his office, but he’s happy to stop doing paperwork so Nate can show him what mobility he has. He records Casey on his phone doing some stretches, and trap and lat strength exercises so he can remember them for later. They walk back to Casey’s office together.

“You got summer plans?” he asks, dawdling outside his office door. Nate wobbles his hand back and forth.

“Going to see my parents for a little bit,” he says, “dunno, the rest depends on Tys. What about you?”

Casey grins.

“We’re going to Disneyworld with the girls. They’re pumped,” he says. Casey’s got two girls, and Nate’s not a dumbass, he knows to ask for pictures. Casey flicks through a few on his phone, Emma and Grace in princess dresses, heading off to school with tiny backpacks, riding Casey’s shoulders.

“Cute kids,” Nate says, not lying. Casey grins again and runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah they're the best,” he says. “I've gotta go finish those files, but let me know how those exercises go and send me some video when you start training again, yeah?”

Nate nods.

“For sure,” he says. He drives back home and heats up left-over chilli in the microwave and then eats it directly out of the tupperware at the counter. The cleaning service has been and left kitchen towels piled on top of his bread box. He's looking forward to sandwiches. He's on 40% protein for the next couple of weeks, until the post-season exhaustion properly wears off, and then he can have complex carbs again. Best part of the off-season. The team nutritionist’s off-season instructions are blue-tacked to the fridge door, with blue highlighting on Nate’s parts and green on Tyson’s. He idly rereads it while he eats. They want him to put on muscle in his back over the summer, and there's a list of acceptable proteins.

He hears Tyson’s car pull up in the driveway and chews a little faster. If he plays his cards right, he can probably get some gold-star cuddles and makeouts on the couch while they watch back episodes of the Bachelorette. Tyson comes into the kitchen with a single bag of groceries, and a big file of paperwork that he dumps on the kitchen table.

“I bought steaks for tonight,” he says, unpacking the bag, and Nate crowds him away from it for a second, plastic wrapped broccoli still in his hand, to kiss him.

“Hey,” he says, when they pull apart, and Tyson looks up at him, a little dazed. Nate feels smug. He loves when he can make Tyson react. His whole rookie year he had felt like a dumb kid trying to get a response out of Tyson, hoping Tyson would find him funny, smart, something. Apparently it had worked, because Tyson had kissed him first, over the divider in his car dropping Nate off after practice. Sometimes Nate still feels like that, the younger one looking for Tyson’s attention, but now he knows Tyson’s willing to put up with it.

“Hey,” Tyson says back, after a second, and then wriggles away to put the food in the fridge.

“We can grill out eh?” Nate asks, shuffling Tyson’s folder onto the pile of other paperwork they always seem to keep on the kitchen table.

“Sweet,” Tyson says, still looking at the fridge.”You wanna watch tv?”

Ace, Nate thinks, he's definitely getting cuddles.

Tyson pretends he isn't falling asleep on the couch, but Nate isn't blind, he definitely is. Nate lets him sleep and lies on the sectional texting Sarah, and then Sid about Cole Harbour plans, and then his mom cause she's hassling him about when he's coming to visit and he won’t know until Tys decides. Tyson jerks awake a few hours later, the sun slanting through Nate’s patio doors and catching him in the face.

“Ugh,” Tyson groans, and runs a hand over his face. “How long was I asleep for?”

“Couple of hours,” Nate says, sticking his phone in his pocket. “I’m gonna put the steaks in sauce, you want anything?”

Tyson shakes his head.

“You gonna work out?” he asks, levering himself up to sitting. Nate stands. He’d been putting off jumping on the bike in the basement for reasons he couldn’t really identify. He hadn’t wanted to do it while Tys was sleeping.

“Yeah, just the bike,” he says, and leans over to kiss Tyson’s forehead. Tys leans into it, still half-asleep.

“I’ll come down in a minute,” he says, pulling his phone out to stare at it blearily. Nate goes through to the kitchen and dumps the steaks in a ziplock bag with sauce. He can hear Tyson puttering around in the living room, but he goes down to the basement, where he has a gym and a room his mom calls the “laundry room" where the cleaning service leave clothes to dry. He grabs a pair of shorts from the clean laundry pile and hops on the bike. Cardio is boring, but he turns the tv on and puts his his elbows down on the bike handlebars and pushes through it. He'd told Sid he thought cardio was boring last summer, and Sid had kind of rubbed his jaw and said “You can be bored when you've won a cup,” like he was sure Nate could do it. Nate knows he can't make the team better by wishing, but he could be ready for when the team was ready. He's always been better at planning for hockey things than anything else. Good things seem to happen without him worrying about it. He hadn't planned for Tyson, and he’s surely one of the best things to happen to Nate both hockey-wise and generally

Tyson appears in the doorway and leans on the doorjam, raising his eyebrow. Nate never puts a shirt on to work out at home because it always seems like more effort than it's worth but, more importantly, he knows what it does to Tyson and he's not a moron. Nate sits up on the bike, breathing hard, and Tyson licks his lips.

They both have to shove it out of mind while Tyson goes through his weight reps, but Nate gets little flashes of arousal anyway, at the drop of sweat working its way down Tyson’s neck, the muscles in Tyson’s shoulders, the glimpse of his abdominals when he does a twist. It's pretty deadly.

They have a strict no sex in the gym rule, instituted at Tyson’s demand. He thinks they won’t be able to keep it out of the locker room if they fuck in the gym, but Nate’s been working out around guys he thinks are hot since he was 16. He’s managed to work out with Sidney Crosby, the focus of a lot of his confused teenage urges, for years and not do anything even kind of weird. So far. He hopes. He thinks Sid would have said something by now if he was being weird. As soon as they’re out of the gym and Tyson’s about to go up the basement steps, Nate crowds him up against the wall.

“Aw geez, what are you doing Mac, c’mon let me up the stairs,” Tyson grouses. Nate grins at him. Tyson always complains but he loves it. Nate leans down to scrap his teeth along Tyson’s shoulder, and watches Tyson shiver.

“We’re not in the gym anymore,” he says, and Tyson looks up at him, blinks slowly.

“Last one in the shower comes last,” he says quickly, and then, because he always plays dirty, shoves Nate away and runs up the steps.

Tyson beats him to the shower, and Nate hates losing. In retaliation, he jerks Tyson off slowly, his arm across his shoulders holding him against the tiled wall until he’s jerking and gasping.

“Nate, Nate,” he chants, before coming all over Nate’s hand, his legs giving out, only Nate’s arm holding him up.

“Fuck, Tyson,” he says, and wraps his hand around his own dick, the water hitting his shoulders, his hand tight and Tyson looking up at him. He comes kissing Tyson, an open-mouthed pant that Tysons pushes into.

Nate washes his hair, jostling with Tyson who always gets mad that Nate blocks the water flow, and towels off while Tyson washes. He pulls on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt on the way to the patio, the sun still coming over the trees at the end of the yard. He turns on the grill, and Tyson comes out in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and the two of them go back and forth to the house, getting plates and salad and Tyson complains until Nate lets him put halloumi on the grill.

Nate is watching the grill when Tyson says “hey look" and points in the sky. Nate’s expecting like, a plane or a cool bird, but it’s the soft blue basket of a baby, winding its slow path down from the sky. Aww, he thinks.

“Wishbaby,” says Tyson, getting the crinkles around his eyes he gets around babies and dogs. Nate looks at the steaks but they're probably gonna be fine and, to be honest, Tyson doesn't mind scraping off burnt bits. He walks over and knocks his chin into the back of Tyson’s head, gently.

“Cute eh?” Tyson says and Nate says “yeah" quietly. It looks like it's making for the trees at the back of Nate's yard, so he guesses his neighbours were wishing for another baby. Wishbabies are special, maybe he should send them a card or something. They seem nice.

The basket doesn't go over the trees. Instead it makes a funny turn at the end of the property, as if caught by the wind, even though wishbabies don't respond to the weather. Babies arrive in thunderstorms and typhoons and earthquakes, a little wind isn't going to slow them down.

“Wait, what,” Nate says, and the basket does a 180 spin and lands on the ground in front of Nate’s patio. It's, like, ten feet away. He can hear soft baby snores, and see a fat baby hand waving. _What is happening_.

“Aw geez “ he hears Tyson say quietly, and maybe Tyson is quicker on the uptake because Nate has _no fucking clue_ what is happening right now. There's a wishbaby in his yard. They both stare at it for a few minutes, and then a soft whining sound comes from the basket, like maybe someone is thinking about crying, and Tyson kind of jerks.

“Nate,” he says. “Nate, go see who it's for.”

See who it's for? See who it's for?? It's a wishbaby, they don't just show up at random! They pick you _specially_. Apparently Sid was a wishbaby but he never says anything about it and if Nate had been brought to life by the force of his parents wanting he would probably fucking mention it, so maybe it’s a myth. Gabe and his sister were wishbabies, like a lot of twins, and Gabe always seems kind of embarrassed when he gets asked about it. Nate gets really embarrassed and squirmy when his Mom says she loves him on the phone so he can see why getting reminded that your parents loved you _before you even existed_ might be kind of cringey.

Tyson gives him a shove, and he tries to forget he's freaking out. This baby needs him to find out where they should be so he and Tyson can get them there. That's all. He steps off the patio and into the grass, the damp marking up the toes of his trainers.

“Hey baby,” he says quietly, looking down into the basket. It's a cute baby, he thinks, although Tyson says he's a soft touch and he always thinks babies are cute, even when they're not. It's not got any hair yet, and it's fat, like a baby should be, and it's got big brown eyes, looking up at Nate kind of vacantly. “Hey baby,” he says again, reaching out slowly for the wish card pinned to the baby’s sleeve, and turning it over.

 

> _Tyson Barrie and Nathan Mackinnon_

it says, in bland handwriting. Well, fuck. He looks up at Tyson, looking from the patio, his hands stuck in his pockets awkwardly. He can smell the steaks starting to burn.

“It's our baby,” Nate says, feeling kind of shell-shocked. Tyson’s hands drop out of his pockets.

“Oh boy,” Tyson says, which is a lot politer version of what Nate was thinking. Their baby gurgles in the basket. “We're in so much trouble,” Tyson says.

Nate looks at the baby. He's got Tyson’s eyes. “Hey baby,” Nate says, wondrously this time. Their baby. He lets go of the wish card and puts his hand against the baby’s, who grips his pointer finger in his loose, fat hand.

&&&

Nate takes the baby basket inside, because Tyson looks like he’d drop anything he picked up, and they both stand staring at the baby on the kitchen table until Nate smells the steaks burning and has to run back to the grill to turn it off. When he comes back into the kitchen, Tyson is still staring at the baby, looking a little like a deer caught in the headlights, even though all the baby is doing is gurgling little baby noises and smiling.

Tyson looks up at him, and maybe they haven't been going out long but Nate had thought he had seen all that Tyson’s face had to show, fear and misery and arousal, but this was so confusing, something he’d never seen before.

“Nate, were you wishing for a baby?” he says quietly, softly. “Last night, did you wish for a baby?”

He reaches out to hold the join between Tyson’s shoulder and neck, running his thumb along the cord of muscle. He hadn’t really been wishing for a baby. He’d just wanted Tyson, everything that entailed. Thinking about it makes him feel uncomfortably hot all over, like speaking in public or heights, but he'd been thinking about Tyson, about the deep well of emotion he didn't understand but knew was there. He'd been thinking a little bit about other players, whose kids came to games and celebrated wins and saw them play. The only family he could imagine with Tyson had been one after they retired, and that didn't seem the same. Children who would never see him play, who would know that part of him and Tyson only through pictures and video, seemed too strange. He and Tyson were teammates first and always. There wasn't a part of them that didn't feel that.

So, he guesses, in a roundabout way, he had been thinking about a baby. He had been thinking about the future, and Tyson, and a family. He just hadn't realised this was what that meant. Tyson’s still looking at him, still waiting for an answer. He hears the baby whine quietly.

“No,” he says, and hates how defensive he sounds. “I was thinking about the future. Did you wish for a baby?”

The face Tyson makes isn't a “no".

“I didn't think anything would happen,” he says, and flushes red all over, his shoulders hunched up around his ears. Holy christ, Tyson had wished for a baby and then one had arrived in his yard.

The baby makes a sudden loud noise, that makes both of them jump, and Nate peers into the basket. While they've been freaking out, the baby's been busy and he's red in the face, waving his little arms against the tangle of blankets around him, looking kind of like a small bald Tyson when he's angry. Nate's both terrified and charmed.

“Hey little guy,” he says, and reaches out to lift him free of the blankets, one hand behind his head. Sarah's older than he is, but there were always baby cousins around the house in the summer, and the moms at the rink when he was kid had always had babies and kids with them. He jogs the baby gently and holds him against his chest, feeling confused and happy and a little shocky. It hurts his stomach. Tyson looks like he took a really hard hit and is trying to decide if it hurts or not.

“Nate,” he says, and Nate makes a decision. He turns a little so the baby can see Tyson and looks over his shoulder.

“What do you say little guy? You wanna say hi to your dad?” he says. He looks at Tyson. “He's gonna need a name.”

Tyson swallows.

“Yeah,” he says. Something like the familiar light is back in his eyes, and Nate’s stomach swoops. “What about Denver?”

“No way,” Nate says quickly, and Tyson laughs, reaching out and lifting the baby from Nate’s arms.

“I'm joking man,” Tyson says. “We'll pick a good one.”

All the strange tension flows out of Nate’s body, because Tyson’s holding their baby, and he doesn't have any words for it, just that it feels good. Tyson holds the baby close to his face and coos at him, robbing their noses together.

“Hey little man,” he says. “Aren't you a big surprise?”

“We're gonna need baby stuff,” Nate says, even though he has no fucking clue where you even get baby stuff. Tyson wraps his arms around the baby, and they make eye contact, and nod. They know what to do whenever they need emergency help.

They call Gabe.

“Hi,” Nate says, when Gabe picks up. He's got no idea how to say this delicately, so like most things in his life he just tries to go through it. “Tyson and I have a baby.”

“Oh gosh,” Gabe says sarcastically, over some background noise like maybe he's doing something in the house, not fully paying attention. “I knew you guys kept trying I just never thought it'd work.”

Nate’s looking at Tyson holding the baby, bouncing him in front of the windows. He's making nonsense sounds and shaking his head until the baby laughs.

“No, Gabe, really,” he says. “A wishbaby landed in my yard.”

The background sounds stop, and Gabe suddenly sounds a lot closer to the phone.

“A wishbaby?”Gabe says again, kind of stupidly. That's what Nate just said.

“Yeah,” Nate says. “We kinda don't know what to do.”

Tyson looks at Nate over the baby's head.

“Tell him to go to the store and then get over here,” he says. “Captain has to meet our baby.”

Nate holds the phone away from his mouth, still close enough he knows Gabe can hear him.

“Are you sure?” he says. “We don't want to traumatise him with his giant forehead.”

Tyson laughs, which makes the baby laugh, and Nate feels like he's 100 feet tall.

“I can't believe you,” Gabe says, on the phone. “I'm going to the store.”

It takes Gabe an hour to come over, and Nate doesn't even notice because him and Tyson lose the hour to blowing soft raspberries all over the baby, his fat arms and rounded hands and soft tummy. Tyson seems just as entranced as he is.

“Aren't babies supposed to cry?” Nate asks quietly, over the baby's head, and Tyson makes a face before reaching out and knocking his fist against Nate’s wooden coffee table. Tyson’s not as superstitious as some players, but there's some stuff you don't screw around with.

“Shh, don't jinx it,” he whispers. The baby's eyes keep fluttering closed, and it's the cutest thing Nate’s ever seen.

There's the sound of keys, and then Nate’s front door opens.

“If you guys were jerking me around, I swear to god I am going to make you do bag skates tomorrow,” Gabe says, echoing in Nate’s entrance way.

“Shhhh!” both he and Tyson say quickly, and then Gabe comes into the living room, arms full of grocery bags. He stops dead in his tracks.

“You guys weren't kidding,” Gabe says, and Tyson rolls his eyes.

“Yes, obviously, you took your time, we could have been having an emergency here,” he says, but when he gestures at Nate and the baby, it loses some of its force. Nate thinks they're doing great. The baby is sleeping and hasn't cried even once yet. Sure, he doesn't have a name yet, which is going to become a problem soon, but they're doing okay? He looks over at Tyson, because his mood’s as good a read as anything for how Nate should be feeling. He's grinning, and looking at Gabe, like he's just scored and he's waiting for a hug, or told a joke that Gabe is going to groan and then laugh at.

Tyson takes one of the grocery bags out of Gabe’s hands and starts unpacking it on the dining table, plastic sippy bottles and a big box of baby formula, toys that light and spin when you shake them, a stuffed monkey. Gabe unpacks the other bag mechanically, looking over at Nate and the baby on the couch every couple of seconds, like he's checking it's still real. Nate feels a little like that too.

The other grocery bag has diapers, baby blankets in a bunch of colours, including one in Avalanche maroon that Tyson tosses over to Nate. He lays it next to the baby, within reach when he wakes up. Best to start him on team spirit early.

“What's his name?” Gabe says, still holding a pack of diapers in his hand.

“We haven't picked one yet,” Tyson says, peering at the instructions on the side of the formula box. “He's only been here a couple of hours Landeskog.”

“Tyson wants to name him Denver,” Nate says, trying to hold himself back from reaching out for the baby. His hand is bigger than his whole head, and it makes Nate’s heart grow three sizes every time he sees it.

“Don't name him Denver,” Gabe says, wrinkling his nose. “What if you get traded?”

All three of them reach out at the same time and rap their knuckles against the nearest table. There are some superstitions you _don't fuck around with_.

“We're not going to name him Denver, I was kidding,” Tyson says.

“What about Gabe?” Gabe says, with a smile, jostling Tyson with his elbow. Tyson rolls his eyes, and looks at Nate.

“We want him to actually turn out good at hockey,” Nate says, which makes Tyson laugh and then smother it when the baby moves.

“He's gonna need a name,” Gabe says, a little like he's building up for a captain lecture, and Nate’s preparing to ignore him when the baby makes a crabby-sounding noise, waves his fat baby arms and screws up his face, going red.

“Oh geez,” Tyson says from the other side if the dining table and then the baby starts crying. Nothing in Nate’s life has prepared him for this, for the sudden intense clench of his heart, and the tension that runs up and down his whole body. He's closest, so he lifts him up, their tiny angry baby fighting him the whole way, until he can tuck the baby against his chest and stand, bouncing him gently. When he looks up, Gabe has his hands over his ears.

“Geez,” he says, “your kid has _lungs_.”

“Yeah they come standard issue apparently,” Tyson says, loudly to be heard over the baby because Nate’s boyfriend has never not committed to a joke, and waves Nate over. “Bring him here, lets see if he's hungry.”

Tyson mixes formula in a sippy cup and puts it in the microwave, reading the side of the formula box, while Nate bounces the baby, still crying and crying. His little face is all screwed up and red, and Nate still thinks he’s the cutest thing ever.

The microwave beeps, and Tyson reaches out.

“Here, let me try,” he says, and Nate carefully hands over the baby. Tyson holds up the bottle with his free hand, and smiles widely, his eyes lighting up. Nate watches his face, how happy he looks. He looks good. The baby hiccups loudly and then sucks on the sippy cup. Tyson looks across the baby’s head at Nate, and they both smile. Nate knows that expression. It isn’t any different than the one Tyson makes when he does something showy on the ice, like saying “not so hard eh?”

Gabe crosses his arms. He looks kind of conflicted, the way he gets when they lose because of being genuinely bad, because he wants to say something but doesn’t want to be disloyal.

“I didn’t know you guys were wishing for a baby,” he says, gently. Tyson stops rocking the baby, and gets a kind of hunted, distrustful expression. Nate reaches out and runs his hand over the back of the baby’s head, through the soft fuzz that’ll turn into hair. He wonders if he’ll have brown hair like Tyson.

“Uh,” he says, turning to look at Gabe. “It was kind of by accident.”

Gabe face screws up.

“How do you wish for a baby by accident?” he asks, and Nate shrugs.

“I dunno,” he says. “Still our baby though.”

Gabe raises one eyebrow.

“Your baby has no name,” he says.

“Yeah well 20 minutes ago he didn’t have a blanket or toys, we’re getting there Gabriel,” Tyson says waspishly. Gabe puts his hands up.

“Geez, okay. Have you even told your parents yet?”

Nate’s stomach sinks. Man, his mom is gonna be so mad at him. Tyson’s face gentles out.

“Not yet,” he says. “We told you first.”

Gabe looks like his head’s about to grow five more sizes from emotion alone.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh, thanks I guess.”

The baby’s stopped eating, and Tyson bounces him gently. Nate’s not experienced with babies, but he thinks he recognises the confused screwed-up expression on the baby and he’s just moving towards them when the baby hiccups again and then spits up all over Tyson’s shirt.

There’s a split second pause where Tyson is so obviously surprised he has no idea what to do, and Nate also doesn’t know what to do and they both look back and forth at each other, before Gabe bursts out laughing.

All of them cracking up, Nate snags one of the baby blankets off the table and wipes their baby’s face, then ineffectually at Tyson’s shirt, and it’s gross, but the baby is giggling along with them, and Nate can’t help but kiss Tyson quickly, just press their lips together. He hadn’t wished for this on purpose, but it was the right wish, he thinks.

Gabe stays to help them for a little bit, putting away baby stuff and going on Amazon to order things while they hand the baby back and forth. Whoever isn’t holding the baby is googling names, and getting shot down. Tyson vetoes Gabe’s suggestions of Rasmus, and Gunner, which Nate thinks was a joke, and then Nate vetoes Tyson’s suggestions of Len (he’s already intimidated enough by Tyson’s dad) and Victor (if they’re not naming the baby Denver, he’s not letting Tyson sneakily name their baby after Victoria).

Eventually, the sky completely dark outside, Gabe slowly extracts himself. He’s going to speak to the front office for them, and they have to call their agents, but it’s late and the baby is snoring quietly against Nate’s chest. They have a million things on their Amazon order, but they don’t have a cot or a bed or anything.

Tyson looks at them both softly.

“He can sleep with us,” he says. Nate nods.

“We can put his bed in your room when it comes,” Nate says softly. The guest bedroom is technically, officially, Tyson’s, but he hasn’t slept there in months. Mostly it just stores his stuff, and the pile of hockey memorabilia Nate keeps telling himself he'll sort through one day. He's a bit surprised to realise that day has pressingly arrived. It's okay, he can move the stuff to the basement.

Tyson lays the baby down between them. Nate’s glad he got the biggest bed he could. The baby looks so small between them, his tiny fist curled around the maroon blanket.

“He really needs a name,” Tyson says, lying on his side, his head propped on one of his hands. “We can’t keep calling him baby.”

“You didn’t like any of Gabe’s names,” Nate whispers. Tyson rolls his eyes.

“Gabe’s names were terrible. C’mon, what do you think?”

The problem is Nate can’t think of any names. It seems like such a huge decision. This is the name their baby’s going to have forever, and it’s kind of making him crazy thinking of a name.

He lies on his back and looks at the ceiling, thinking about people who’ll be important to the baby. That’s a good way to think of names right?

“What about Sid?” he says to the ceiling, and then rolls sideways when Tyson makes a muffled snorting laugh sound.

“I’m not naming our baby after the man in the bread commercials,” Tyson says, when he’s got a handle on his laugh.

“You’ve met Sid like a whole bunch of times.” Nate says. Tyson sticks his tongue out.

“Not the point. I’m not naming our baby after Sidney Crosby,” he says. Nate squirms lower onto his pillow, and looks at Tyson over the baby’s tiny shoulder.

“John?” Tyson asks. Nate shakes his head.

“Tavares,” he says, and Tyson makes a face.

“Shoot. Uh, Matt?”

“Gabe’ll kill us if we name the baby after Neats,” he says. Tyson grimaces.

“Fair. We can’t avoid every name in the league.”

“I mean, we should probably try, right? He should have his own name,” Nate says, and puts his hand around the curve of the baby’s head, just not touching. He doesn’t want to wake him up. He looks up at Tyson and sees his face soften.

“Yeah, we’ll try,” he says. He levered himself slowly down to lie on his side, both of them looking at each other. “What about Aidan? We don’t know any Aidans.”

Lying down has reminded Nate how long and emotionally draining today’s been. He nods sleepily.

“I have a cousin called Aidan,” he says, through long blinks. “It’s a good name.”

Tyson wrinkles his nose up at the baby.

“Hey baby Aidan,” he whispers. “Your dad likes your name, you hear that?”

Nate’s yawning, and he can feel himself slipping away into sleep.

“G’night Tyson, g’night Aidan,” he mumbles, and closes his eyes properly, already being sucked down into the pull of sleep.

&&&

Nate wakes with a sudden start at an unfamiliar noise. For a long, sleepy minute he can’t remember where he is, or what would be making that laughing sound, and then everything comes rushing back and he turns over quickly. Tyson is snoring softly, his face smushed against his pillow, creases running along his cheeks. Between them, Aidan has rolled onto his back and is waving his arms, laughing at some unknowable baby joke.

Nate rolls over fullt and wriggles his face until his nose was touching Aidan’s soft arm.

“Hey baby,” he whispers. “Aidan. Baby Aidan.”

He rubs his nose against Aidan’s arm, and it makes him giggle again. Nate could listen to that sound all day. Carefully, trying not to wake Tyson, he rolls slowly out of bed and lifts Aidan into his arms. In the kitchen, he reads the side of the formula box and heats up a bottle of milk. Aidan makes happy baby noises until he takes the bottle. Nate can see Tyson in him, in the big brown eyes and the pointy chin.

“You’re gonna be real handsome,” Nate says, smiling. “You’re gonna look just like your dad aren’t you?”

Aidan can’t understand him, but he wants to only say good things. His baby is the best baby in the whole world.

“What’s that make me eh? If Tyson’s your dad, I guess I’m your papa huh?

Tyson appears in the doorway in his sleepshirt and boxers, yawning.

“I woke up and the bed was empty,” he says, sleepily confused. Nate’s heart zings painfully.

“It's alright, I've got him, he was just hungry,” Nate says, turning so Tyson could see Aidan’s face.

Tyson came over to run his hand over Aidan’s head, and leaned up the kiss the corner of Nate’s mouth.

“You're really good with him,” Tyson says quietly, “I didn't expect-" He cuts himself off and turns, taking the box of porridge oats off the counter. Something primal in Nate’s chest roars in pain. Tyson thinks Nate wouldn't care about their baby? Or that he wouldn’t want to care? Tyson is so unfair sometimes. It isn't Nate that’s pulled back from him. It isn't Nate that's been confusing and closed off and so frustrating Nate could scream. He bites down on the argument he wants to have. Tyson doesn't deserve his garbled frustration, and there's a baby now. He has to show up. He looks at Aidan, now just mouthing at the bottle. It's just like hockey, being in love. You show up, every day, every shift, no matter what, you hope the bounces go your way, until they tell you to stop. God, he hopes Tyson never wants him to stop showing up.

“It's not that difficult,” Nate says, looking at Aidan. “He's worth it eh?”

Tyson’s face is hidden in the fridge while he looks for the milk.

“Gabe’s gonna talk to the front office for us today. They'll probably want a meeting,” Tyson says tensely. Since arbitration, he hates talking to the front office about anything. He's never said anything about it to Nate, but he's always tense during meetings, and he dodges phone calls until his agent pins him down.

“Makes sense,” Nate says, swapping out the bottle for one of the plastic rattles Gabe brought yesterday. “We'll need to figure stuff out for next season.” He does some math in his head. He'd had to take the quiz on wishbabies in health class twice, so some of the facts stuck eventually. Wishbabies arrive 3 months grown. “Aidan’ll be what, 6 months? If we keep up with conditioning, we can probably miss the preseason, I know they want to rotate the second line. Josty’ll be happy, more minutes for him.”

Tyson looks like someone had smacked him the face with a stick and his helmet was still ringing. He was still holding the milk and the fridge door was open. In Nate’s arms, Aidan makes a kind of gurgling noise and Nate scoops up one of the baby cloths and drapes it over his chest and shoulder. He is not letting their baby ralph on him.

“You've been thinking about this?” Tyson asks, slowly closing the fridge door. The little zing of pain goes through Nate again.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know it's hard with both of us on the team, but we can make it work, right? We can both be around.”

Tyson puts the milk on the counter, and reaches out to grip Nate’s wrist, his fingers brushing against Aidan’s back.

“You're always full of surprises Mac,” he says softly, and Nate just smiles at him. What is he supposed to say to that?

At around 2, Aidan starts crying and wailing. It takes them 30 minutes of aural torture to figure out he wants to sleep before they put him down for a nap in the cot they had assembled from the shipping box after breakfast. Who screams when they want to sleep? Nate doesn't understand babies.

Tyson says he's going to work out, looking stubborn, but Nate’s exhausted from a full day of handing the baby back and forth, cycling through toys. Aidan can't crawl but he can lay on his stomach and wave his arms and legs and grab for toys. He's going to be a terror. Nate happily spent 40 minutes rolling a ball into Aidan’s chubby hands, and then collecting it when he inevitably deflected it. Never too early to work on hand-eye coordination he thinks. He and Tyson had traded the laptop back and forth watching parenting youtube videos, and googling development milestones, but then Tyson had found the “first ice skates" tab he'd left open and monopolised the laptop googling when was the earliest you could let a child ice skate. Tyson also orders a bunch of parenting books Nate is certain neither of them will read but will probably reassure their parents when they come to visit. Nate takes one last look at Aidan asleep in his cot. He doesn't think they're gonna fuck this up. Their kid's gonna be awesome.

He lies down in their bed to nap, and buries his face in Tyson’s pillow, still smelling like their shared shampoo, and the soft sleepy smell of someone else. He and Tyson sleep apart for naps when their schedules don't match up, but Nate hasn't fallen asleep well without Tys in months. He gets pulled under in sleep thinking of nothing at all, feeling the muscles in his back relax as the last sensation he remembers.

It's dark when he wakes up, the kind of grey darkness of late afternoon, and he feels muggy, overwarm, struggling against sleep. He can't hear Tyson anywhere in the house.

Still a bit stupid from sleep, he rolls out of bed and grabs a shirt off the clean laundry pile on top of the dresser, planning on heading to the kitchen. He's hungry, and eating always wakes him up. He doesn't mean to be quiet, but the house is so quiet he feels like he should be whispering and he's careful in the hall. He also doesn't mean to eavesdrop but he hears Tyson talking and he's been desperate all season to know what Tyson thinks in the privacy of his own mind, and this seems the closest thing, what Tyson says to himself when he thinks no one is listening.

He pauses in the hallway, outside the half open door to Tyson’s room, where Aidan’s cot is. He can hear Tyson talking, in a quiet baby voice, and he steps closer.

“Good baby, you're a good baby aren't you, aren't you a good baby?” He's saying. Nate can just make out his silhouette rocking Aidan side to side. “You're just like your papa, hmmm? Gonna break my heart just like your papa?” Tyson voice hitches, not like he's crying, but like he’s got a catch at the back of his throat. “Oh, your papa loves you, doesn't he?” Nate hears Aidan giggle, burbling. “Does your papa love me little man? Do you know hmmm?” Tyson’s voice shakes. “You don't know do you, you're just a baby, you're just our wish baby, oh boy.” Tyson sniffs again.

Nate doesn't think he can do this. How is it that Tyson is the only person in the world who can make his chest feel tight in the terrible way he feels right now? How is it that Tyson is the only person who can make that go away? He wished for this baby with Tyson. He realises, stepping to let his head lean against the wall, trying to breathe silently through his nose, that he hadn't been wishing for a baby. He'd been wishing for a future, the strange blank unfolding of an uncountable number of days with Tyson, building a life that they could both live in. He'd been wishing for it, and now they had- were a family. How could Tyson doubt him?

For a long time, Tyson’s lack of desire to talk about things - their relationship, the future, any of Nate’s or his feelings - had been Nate’s favorite part of dating. He knows he isn't the best communicator. He's still a little self-conscious of the lisp, although not much because who cares about that bullshit, but it’s mostly words. He can never find the right combination of words to explain the things he feels, that seem so huge and strange and unknowable, and it’s always seemed like the consequence of getting it wrong would be so big that it makes more sense to stay quiet.

But recently, it's seemed more and more like Tyson’s willful silence was less sparing Nate’s nerves and more because Tyson was unsure of where he stood, what answers Nate would be able to dredge up from the tangle of his thoughts and feelings. He had thought Tyson knows all the important stuff - that Nate is hopelessly, completely into his everything - and the sinking realisation that maybe Tyson did _not_ know that because crucially Nate had _never said_ that makes him feel like garbage. And that brings him circling back to the original problem. He has no idea what to say to solve this problem, to make Tyson sure of him. But he has to. He has to find some way.

He pulls the door open all the way and steps into the doorway. Tyson head snaps up from where he's tucked his face close to Aidan’s head on his chest. He's not crying, but his eyes are wet at the edges, like he's overwhelmed.

“Tyson,” Nate says, and steps into the room. Tyson’s stupid un-slept-in bed is between them, and he doesn't know what to do. He's seen Tyson cry only twice, once when injured and high, and once during the awful season, the worst season of Nate’s life, when all they could do was lose and lose and let everyone around them down. Gabe had come to Tyson’s hotel room, where Nate slept every road game, and stone cold sober Tyson had cried and Nate had clung to him and Gabe had lain next to them on the bed, mute with frustration. Nate bites down on what he wants to say, which is something that would wipe this all away, make it not have happened, make them go eat breakfast and argue about eggs again and go on with not talking about it. He walks around the bed and doesn't let himself take the easy out. It's about showing up, he reminds himself. He reaches out and for a horrifying second he thinks Tyson will lean away, but instead he leans towards him, and Nate catches his forearm and then pulls him into an awkward hug, Aidan tucked between them. Tyson sniffs, and Nate fixes his vision on a point over Tyson’s shoulder. He can't do this looking at him.

“You heard a lot of that huh?” Tyson says waterily. Nate nods.

“Tyson, what is going _on_?” he says, and he can hear the confusion and frustration in his own voice.

“I'm kind of going a little crazy here,” says Tyson, a little self deprecating, smiling like he's waiting for Nate to laugh. Nate doesn't think it's funny. He grips the meat of Tyson’s bicep, and when he looks across at him, Tyson’s looking down at Aidan, serious is the way that only babies can be, wide-eyed and waiting. “See, I've spent a lot of the last month waiting for you to break up with me, No don't interrupt me,” Nate had opened his mouth and tightened his grip on Tyson’s arm, because what the fuck, “except it kept not happening, and you kept not saying anything, which made me even crazier.” Tyson takes a breath, like he’s getting some steam behind him now. “I kept wishing you wouldn’t break up with me, and then I was just wishing you’d say something, but, then the baby showed up” at this, Tyson looked up. “I have no goddamn clue any more.”

There’s a long pause while Nate thinks of what to say. Tyson goes to pull away but Nate tightens his fingers.

“Wait a second,” he says, and Tyson stops trying to get away, still looking wary. Nate doesn’t know what to say first. What’s the most important? Fuck, he hates figuring this out. He takes a deep breath. One thing at a time.

“Okay, first, I don’t want to break up with you.” He says. He wants to get that cleared up fast. He looks down, and Aidan is looking up at him, his mouth open, drooling onto his chin. Nate pulls away a little so he can use the hem of his t-shirt to wipe the drool off. What can he lose by saying something to reveal the deep softness bubbling under the surface of his feelings? Tyson maybe, but even that terrible pain couldn't take away this, that Nate is looking at the greatest possible proof that Tyson wished for something with him, wished so hard and with such longing that it brought them a whole new life.

“I'm basically super in love with you Tys,” he says, still looking at Aidan, because he's a coward. “And I'm pretty sure it's a forever kind of deal.” He pauses, and forces himself to make eye contact. Tyson looks, well he looks like he might cry again, but he’s smiling. “At least I want it to be.” He rubs the back of one of his fingers over Aidans cheek. “I wanna be there for it all, I wanna see him skate for the first time and I want him to be there when we win games. I want all of that, and I want to do it with you.” He exhales, feeling like he’s letting something heavy go. “That's what I want. I hope you want the same."

This is all of him, laid out on the ice. Centers don’t block shots; he’s not brave like Tyson. All he could do was hope that it was enough.

Tyson hiccups loudly.

“I want that too Mac,” he says, and then stops, seemingly unable to find the words to say anything else. That’s okay. Nate doesn’t think he’s got any other words either. Between them, Aidan makes a grumpy sound, suddenly loud in the quiet room. They both jump and then Tyson chuckles.

“Yeah, I agree baby, too many feelings from dad eh?” he says, his eyes lighting up, and Nate feels the sick dread of earlier recede, pulling back like a wave at the sand.

“Give him here,” he says, and carefully lifts him out of Tyson’s hold. He’s a warm comfortable weight in Nate’s arms. “Let’s go have food. We’ve got a lot of planning to do.”

In the doorway, Tyson puts the flat of his hand between Nate’s shoulder blades, and he turns. They kiss in the door, just briefly, a firm press of Tyson’s lips against his, and god it’s worth it. It’s worth it, every raw moment, every pain. He’s sure.

“I love you,” he says, and Tyson blushes pink. “I mean it, okay?”

Tyson ducks his head and looks away, chewing his lip. Aidan makes a grousing, grumpy sound in his arms. He’s hungry.

“I need you to believe me Tys,” he says. “Okay?”

“I believe you,” Tyson says. “I just. I always thought you'd move on from me, eventually.”

That sounds like the truth, one of the rare times Tyson will say what he's goddamn thinking. He's so frustrating sometimes, but Nate can't help thinking that with fondness. He loves each of Tyson’s strange quirks, even the ones that drive him mad. Aidan squirms in his arms. They're really pushing the limits of his patience now.

“Let's talk in the kitchen okay?” he says.

In the kitchen, Tyson mixes a bottle while Nate rocks Aidan gently, trying to sooth him. He's cranky, and Nate is trying not to pick up his mood. He's hurt that Tyson thinks Nate would think of him as a phase, but that's not Tyson’s fault. In truth, the thought lances painfully close to some of Nate’s most secret insecurities, that one day Tyson will realise he doesn't want this, doesn't want Nate’s slowness, his endless unspoken worries, his painful confusion in the face of emotion.

Tyson hands him the bottle and Nate sits at the kitchen table to feed Aidan.

“Tyson,” he says, in the silence. “Tys. Please, come here.”

Tyson steps near him and then bends to kiss the top of Nate’s head, curling his fingers around the back of his neck. He breathes in deep, feeling Aidan in his arms and Tyson’s fingers in his hair.

“You remember what you asked me when Aidan arrived?” He asks. “You asked me if I had wished for a baby.”

Tyson nods.

“Yeah, I remember,” he says. Nate licks his lips and looks up, meeting Tyson’s gaze.

“I didn't wish for a baby, okay? I didn't fall asleep thinking ‘I want a baby,’ it wasnt that.”

Tyson looks confused, his eyebrows drawing together. Nate wishes he had a free hand to touch him, to smooth the lines off his face.

“Look, I was wishing we would have a future together, you and me and a family. That's what I was wishing for. I was wishing for you Tyson.”

“Oh,” Tyson says softly, and slowly folds into the other kitchen chair, like he's sitting down without consciously thinking about it. “Really?”

“Yes, really, do you fucking believe me now? Nate says exasperatedly. Just like always, Tyson’s expression changes on a dime.

“Don't swear in front of the baby,” he says, frowning at Nate, and all he can do is grin back. He doesn't really know the hesitant, unsure Tyson of the last hour, but he definitely knows this bossy one. Tyson looks at his hands and then looks at Aidan again.

“So, we're going to miss the preseason?” he says. It's a peace offering. Nate nods.

“Yeah I think we can do it,” he says, “and then maybe a nanny? Mom might be willing to come down for a little while. We can make it work.”

Tyson nods, and then reaches around the corner of the table to touch the back of Nate’s hand, holding up Aidan’s head.

“We can make it work.”

&&&

 

 

EPILOGUE

 

 

“Aidan!” Tyson shouts down the hall. “We’re leaving!”

“Wait wait wait!” came the shouting back from the living room, and the incomprehensible sound of his child doing _something_. It's a very familiar sound now.

“Nate, whatever you’re doing, I’m pretty sure the conference final is not going to wait for it!” he shouts, when no one materialises. Their suitcases are by the door, and Tyson has his shoes on and his coat and they’re going to be late for the flight if Nate doesn’t get his shit together. He looks at his phone. No one’s called them, therefore they’re not technically late yet.

“Tyson look,” Nate says, and Tyson turns. Nate’s holding Aidan’s hands, even though he is nearly 3 and can walk fine on his own. He’s wearing a tiny maroon 29 jersey, and grinning, waiting for Tyson’s reaction.

“Oh geez,” he says. “Wait why is he in your jersey?”

The plane can wait. He lunges forward and schoops Aidan up into his arms.

“Oomph,” he says. He's getting heavier. “Who's your favorite player hey little man? Who's your favorite player?”

Aidan loves this game. He puts on a mock thoughtful face.

“Sidney Crosby!” he shouts, and Tyson growls, tickling his ribs.

“Sidney Crosby! My own son, betraying me for Pittsburgh! I can't believe it,” he says. Aidan doesn't understand all the words but he loves the reaction. He stops tickling and peers at Aidan’s face in his arms. “Who's your _real_ favorite player huh?”

Aidan screws up his face. Tyson seriously doubts he's struggling for a name. He worries all the time about whether they're feeding him right, or putting him in the right daycare, or letting him have too many screens, but he's red hot on hockey trivia.

“Connor McDavid!” he shouts, tripping a little over the D sound. Tyson gasps, and turns Aidan in his arms so he's looking at Nate.

“Do you hear this Nate? He likes an _Oiler_!”

Nate fake gasps. His acting could do with some work, but hey their audience is 3. It'll do. Nate leans in to run his fingers up Aidan’s sides, and he bursts into delighted laughter.

“I don't believe you,” Nate says, when Aidan’s shrieks subside. “Are you sure your favorite player isn't on the Avs?”

Aidan has to think about that one for a second, even though they've been doing this bit for months now, ever since Tyson’s mom sent them the kid's size jerseys for Father's Day.

“Uncle Gabe!” he shouts, and Nate grabs him out Tyson’s arms. Nate’s mom is convinced they delayed his walking by carrying him everywhere but Tyson looked it up and 15 months is a totally normal time to start walking. It's not bad strength work for them.

“Oh Uncle Gabe’s your favorite huh?” he said, grinning. “Well at least he's on the right team.”

Tyson looks at his phone again.

“Nate we really do have to leave now,” he says, and holds up his phone. Nate makes a face. They're gonna be cutting it real close.

Kayla, their nanny, comes into the hall and listens to Tyson repeat all the instructions for the eightieth time, like she hasn't been working for them for two years now. Aidan cries, which always sucks, because he's three and “Daddy needs to go get hit a bunch to try and win some silverware,” doesn't really make sense to most people, let alone three-year-olds. They're both quiet in the car. Leaving sucks, and things have been kind of weird, and they also really didn't expect to beat the Jets.

They have to hustle parking the car and getting through the airport, but eventually they're filing onto the plane with everyone else. They get some chirping about being late, and a couple offcolour jokes from EJ, even though they'd hooked up and missed the bus _one time_. Everyone knows they're late all the time ‘cause of Aidan now.

Nate claims a row in the back for himself. He was up late with Aidan last night, so he's trying to catch up on sleep. They have a regular, well-worn back-and-forth argument about who should stay up with Aidan in the post-season. Tyson thinks he should because he's not the first line forward trying to have a career year, but Nate thinks Tyson has more minutes and therefore needs more sleep. He also thinks Tyson’ll shatter into dust if he gets hit with one eensy puck, so he doesn't know how good Nate’s opinion is.

Tyson drops into the seat next to Gabe, who looks up. He jerks his head in Nate’s direction.

“Late night?”

Tyson nods.

“Yeah, we've entered full ‘monsters under the bed’ stage,” he says, and tries to stretch out his legs. Gabe looks sympathetic, and then opens his mouth.

“Look, Tys...” he says, and then stops when Tyson raises his hand.

“We said we wouldn't talk about this till the playoffs were done,” he says, raising an eyebrow. It was Gabe that had asked for the distraction free post-season. He'd broken up with his girlfriend during the preseason, and when he'd spent the next few months eating dinner at their kitchen table, and sleeping in Nate’s spare room, Tyson had thought it was a normal post-breakup fugue state. As the season progressed, and Gabe had stayed enmeshed in their lives, it had become clearer that he was trying to make some kind of statement, in his confused but logical way. And then they'd clinched the last seed, not a wildcard spot for the first time since Gabe had been captain, and they'd thrown themselves full-speed into the post-season. There isn't time for distractions right now, as much as Tyson traitorously kind of wished there was.

Gabe makes a face,

“Yeah,” he says. “I just-”

He runs a hand over his face. He looks tired. Tyson reaches out and puts his hand on Gabe’s thigh, and squeezes.

“Come over for dinner? Tomorrow, when we get home?” Tyson asks. Gabe glances towards the back of the plane, where Nate’s asleep, his head resting on the window. “Mac’ll be fine, he wants you to come too.”

Gabe swallows.

“Aidan?” he asks. Tyson smiles.

“Uncle Gabe is his favorite player. It’ll be fine.”

Gabe puts his hand on top of Tyson’s, and grins at him.

“Good to know he’s smart enough to know who’s pulling this team along,”

Tyson rolls his eyes, but squeezes Gabe’s thigh again. Gabe pats his hand and his smile slides to serious.

“Let’s just get through this game, okay? Pucks in the net.”

It’s an old line from a joke, Tyson doing an impression of Nate after his five-thousandth post-game interview. Over time, it’s become a phrase they repeat back and forth to each other, a call and response for when they need to make it happen.

“Pucks in the net, Gabe,” he agrees. From the back of the plane, they hear one of Nate’s ripping snores. For a split second they look at each other, and then both crack up, bending over to laugh. Gabe’s fingers contract on his hand, and Tyson thinks this is a pretty good deal. He’s got a great boyfriend, maybe another in the works, his kid is awesome, and they’re in the Conference Finals. _Not bad_ , he thinks, and bumps his shoulder against Gabe’s, _not bad_.


End file.
